


Believe me to be very sincerely yours

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: The Stories of Angst and Heartbreak [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sad, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: It's the first Valentine's Day after Sherlock's jump from the roof of Barts Hospital.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Stories of Angst and Heartbreak [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004232
Comments: 86
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Искренне преданный](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695217) by [Fanfiction_Johnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction_Johnlock/pseuds/Fanfiction_Johnlock)
  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Believe me to be very sincerely yours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459557) by [canhcanhcanh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canhcanhcanh/pseuds/canhcanhcanh)



There were some days when John thought it would get better, that he would get better. Then there were days like this one, when the world seemed determined to break him. 

He considered updating his blog. Maybe writing again would help him grieve, help him mourn the person whose brooding persona and swishy coat had brought so much light into his life. He'd swung like a pendulum between inciting annoyance and joy in John. Most of all, however, after fighting so hard and so long, first in a war and then with depression, Sherlock had made him happy.

Not even three months had passed and John’s constant analysis of his relationship with his best friend had already led him to a multitude of different possible conclusions. He was especially fond of one in particular. Surprisingly, it was the same one he’d always avoided the most. As it happened, John was now fairly certain that he was and always had been in love with his best friend.

The absence of Sherlock in his life made him finally realise that he had fallen for the man the day after they had met. Upon further analysis, the likes of which made him feel like he was devoting enough attention to deductive reasoning to make Sherlock proud, he decided that his heart had started beating for Sherlock the moment they had burst into joyous laughter in the foyer of 221B after they’d run together over the roofs of London. His heart had decided that it would beat for no one else just a few moments after, when Angelo had brought his cane. John had been struck, then, that it took Sherlock bloody Holmes to cure his psychosomatic limp and breathe meaning into his life. 

That had been a magnificent day.

Today was not one of those days. 

Today was February fourteenth, and the whole of London was plastered with red decorations. On his walk this morning, he’d seen that there were red hearts adorning the shops, the street vendor carts, seemingly every single building in the city. Love was in the air. Hearts were everywhere.

John’s heart was gone.

John’s heart had been shattered on the pavement in front of Barts in November, and it would never be glued back together.

He felt the pain of a heart beating only because it refused to stop, even if it had no one to beat for anymore.

Instead, his heart beat only to torture him, with the consciousness of all the mistakes he’d made; all the lost opportunities. 

“One more miracle, Sherlock...” John whispered into the darkness of Sherlock’s bedroom, which he had moved into without thought the same evening he’d lost his best friend. He’d just wanted to be wrapped in Sherlock’s scent the first time he’d lain there, and then he had kept coming back every night. Even after Mrs. Hudson had changed the sheets, a move that had made John throw a tantrum that would have rivaled one of Sherlock’s. “Just one more miracle for me, so I could tell you how I feel. You could laugh in my face for denying my feelings for so long, for being so incredibly stupid. You called me an idiot and you were right. You must have known. The great Sherlock Holmes, the master of deduction, had to know that his idiot of a flatmate was hopelessly in love with him the whole time.”

John hugged the pillow, now devoid of Sherlock’s scent but one that had supported the detective’s glorious mop of curls just three months before. It absorbed John’s tears but didn’t absorb the excruciating pain in his heart. 


	2. Chapter 2

I’m not dead. SH – message unsent

I miss you. SH –message unsent

Merry Christmas. SH – message unsent

Happy New Year. SH – message unsent

It’s my birthday. SH – message unsent

I hate Valentine’s day. SH –message unsent

John,

You will not see this letter. Not unless I’m dead. Really dead. I foolishly hoped that by now I would be back in London, listening to all the names you would call me once you found out that I had lied to you. 

I find it most bizarre that I await the dreadful moment of seeing your disappointment and feelings of betrayal on your face. Quite possibly because I want to see your face, no matter the expression on it.

I want you to scream at me, scold me, patronise me...anything if it would mean I could hear your voice again. You deleted the greeting from the voicemail on your phone and now I don’t even have that to listen to when I call you. I hope it means that you have moved on. With that you made me stop revealing my location. It was reckless and irresponsible of me, and you would tell me so. I want you to tell me that.

People in Bangladesh are wearing red today. I bet it’s even worse in London. Hearts and love songs are everywhere...how awful.

It should all be idiotic. Except now, it seems a bit less so. 

I saw a card today that was an alarming shade of red; it had a coffee mug on it that said, “To my grumpy boyfriend. Happy Valentine’s Day.” It was ridiculous and silly. I scoffed at it.

I bought the card. And the wine that was next to it. The bottle is empty now - a regrettable indulgence but I assumed you would disapprove more of the alternative I considered for this evening. Wine seemed like a very mild substitute.

You would have liked it. The card. You like the most pedestrian things. I want to give it to you and see your face when you read what it says.

Then I imagine you laughing and telling me that we’re not a couple and that you’re not even gay.

I don’t want to give you the card anymore.

Or I would if I lived in a world where if I gave it to you, you would smile, then say that you’re only grumpy when you can’t have your morning coffee because there are severed toes in the kettle. 

Then you would kiss my cheek and smile up at me with the radiant smile of dishevelled John Watson in the morning. 

That’s your best look, you know. One that always made me imagine what it would be like to watch you come out of my bedroom that way. 

That was never our reality. It seems now that it will never have a chance to be either. 

Some days, I hope that you have already forgotten me, found a new flatmate or a girlfriend or a dog, and moved on. That I am just the bloke you used to share living space with. A distant memory.

Other days, I’m selfish. I want you to suffer as I suffer, I want you to weep as I do when I cry myself to sleep every night. I want you to feel the pain of a hollow life, a hollow chest and a hollow future, just as I feel it. I want you to scream my name in your sleep. I’m not sure you actually miss me...I want you to miss me.

I miss you, John.

I took one look at you at Barts and saw a case, one more fascinating that I’ve ever had the privilege of finding. 

You were an enigma. If you thought just because I could tell your profession and family history from your behaviour and your phone that I knew you, you were wrong. You kept surprising me every day. Your kindness, your determination, and your trust in me were unlike anything I had ever seen before. You are a wonder, John Watson, and I realise that only now that I have to let you go. My next mission has only a twenty-three percent chance of success. 

This is my first letter to you and likely the last. I have no phone, and this pad I snatched from the hotel lobby is all I have on which to pour out my thoughts.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I had to lie to you and leave.

I’m not sorry that I met you, that I spent the best days of my life chasing criminals with you, that I woke up with my head on your shoulder while you watched crap telly unfazed, that we had late-night dinners, that everyone thought we were a couple, that you stole my heart and never gave it back.

I don’t want it back.

Keep it.

I’d rather live with no heart at all and know that you have it.

It’s bruised and broken, but it’s yours.

My grumpy, almost-maybe, never, only-in-my dreams, boyfriend. 

Believe me to be very sincerely yours.

Goodbye,

SH

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from a letter Holmes wrote to Watson at Reichenbach Falls in “The Final Problem” by Arthur Conan Doyle
> 
> "(...)believe me to be, my dear fellow,  
> Very sincerely yours,  
> SHERLOCK HOLMES"
> 
> If you'd like to lift your spirits after this story, you can read a happy/romantic Valentine's day fic that may be a fix-it to this one:  
> [My friend, John Watson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714471)  
> OR  
> A smutty 10K est-rel fic from the previous year:  
> [ Valentine's Night Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17703239/chapters/41760983)  
> Happy Valentine's Day!  
>   
> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments! They mean a lot and keep me writing!  
>   
> If you enjoy my writing consider subscribing to [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine)  
> :)  
>   
> You can follow/contact me on:  
> [Johnlock Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sherlockedcarmilla)  
> [Johnlock Twitter](https://twitter.com/CarmillaCarmin)  
>   
> For queries connected with translating my work, please see my bio :)


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